


Because You're Worth It

by WastingYourGum



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 15:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WastingYourGum/pseuds/WastingYourGum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Lestrade's least favourite night of the year - the Met's annual charity ball and auction...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because You're Worth It

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on the [LiveJournal kinkmeme](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/2727.html?thread=5304999#t5304999) (and later on [my own LJ](http://wastingyourgum.livejournal.com/32274.html#cutid1)) in response to this prompt:
>
>> I want one of those police charity man-auctions that I'm fairly sure don't exist in real life. You know the one, where the men are forced to dress up and who ever bids the highest gets the man for a day. Where the men are the goods. The kind that Lestrade would absolutely hate. Being flaunted and having women leer at him. The price would go through the roof. Lestrade would be horrifed because he doesn't quite know why but he is glad to be raising the money for charity but he's dreading what he's expected to do.
>> 
>> Mycroft turns up and offers a price no one can match. 

The M.C.'s voice cut through the general chatter in the hotel ballroom. "Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, the moment I know quite a few of you have been waiting for... our Date with a Detective auction!"

"Oh, _hell_." Lestrade swore. "I was hoping to be away before this started. Thought it was meant to be later?"

Donovan smirked back at him. "They must have moved it up, Sir - probably want to have it before most of the guests are too drunk."

Lestrade sat back in his chair and loosened his bow-tie with one hand while he reached for his pint with the other. He hated having things about his neck - always had done since that Soho Strangler case and he'd almost ended up as Victim #8. He'd have to be careful not to lose it though - the tux and the tie had to be back at the rental place on Monday.

Donovan was in a stunning blue dress. Anderson had barely been able to take his eyes off her all evening - which was of course the whole point.

"Our first victim - sorry, _willing volunteer_ ," the M.C. knowingly winked at his audience. "is..." He glanced down at the card in his hand. "Detective Inspector Lestrade!"

Lestrade choked on his pint. _What the f--?_

There were loud cheers and several wolf whistles as every pair of eyes in the room suddenly turned towards him.

"Get yourself up here, D.I. Lestrade!" the M.C. called.

 _Gregson!_ Lestrade scanned the crowd and picked out Gregson lounging by the bar with an enormous grin on his face. He raised his glass to Lestrade in a mock toast and gestured to the stage.

Donovan's grin was almost as big. "Go on, sir - it's for charity, remember?"

He leaned over towards her as he slowly drained his pint and got up. "Donovan - for the love of God, put a bid in - I'll pay you back myself."

"What?"

"I don't want to be standing up there like a total _prat_ with nobody bidding."

Donovan started to laugh then shut up when she saw he was serious. "Not going to be a problem, Sir. Don't worry."

"Come on, Lestrade - don't keep the ladies waiting." Bradstreet grabbed him by the arm and hauled him forward.

Lestrade had a sinking feeling in his stomach he'd not felt since the first time he'd got called to the Super's office on account of Sherlock breaking into a crime scene. He stumbled up onto the stage to raucous applause.

 _"Don't worry"_ \- all very well for Donovan to say. If it was her up here some of the blokes in the room would be offering kidneys - and Anderson would offer to remove them without anesthetic. Still, they'd probably want to keep the younger, better looking lads for later in the auction.

"Now, as you know, the winning bidder gets the company of their chosen Detective for a full evening. What you do with them is entirely up to you - as long as it's nothing illegal, eh?"

Lestrade felt his face flush as the audience laughed. _Oh God..._

The M.C. clapped him on the shoulder. "So who'll start the bidding for this strapping specimen of Scotland Yard's finest?"

_Please... anybody..._

"Twenty pounds!" Donovan called from the back.

 _Thank you, Sally!_ Lestrade could've kissed her right at that moment. _Great... Bang your hammer or whatever... Going once, going twice and then I'm just **going**._..

"Thirty!"

 _What?_ Lestrade's head snapped down to the front of the stage where a small crowd had gathered. _Where did they all come from?_ He thought he recognised the woman who'd spoken as being somebody in HR; a plump lady in her late fifties. She winked at him and Lestrade smiled weakly back at her. _Come on, Donovan..._

"Forty!"

_Yes!_

_Wait - that wasn't Sally..._

"Fifty!"

"Sixty!"

"Seventy!"

Lestrade was glad people were feeling generous but didn't they know there would be other people up here? Just because he was up first, didn't mean they all had to bid for _him_.

"Eighty!" The older lady from Admin again - she had a very... _hungry_ look about her. He shifted uncomfortably and she _licked her lips._ In fact quite a few of the audience seemed to be unconsciously doing that. What the hell was wrong with them?

 _Although it is hot in here... or that might just be me..._ Lestrade tugged nervously at his collar again.

"One hundred!" _A hundred quid!_

"One hundred pounds I'm bid! Come on, ladies - he scrubs up quite nice after all." The M.C. grinned broadly at Lestrade.

"One ten!"

 _One twenty... One thirty... One fifty...One sixty...One eighty...Two hundred... Two fifty..._ The bids were coming in faster than Lestrade could keep up with. He was starting to feel dizzy - and getting more than a little worried about what might be expected of him on this 'date'. This was well into the realms of serious money now.

"Three hundred!" A red-haired woman held her hand up and positively _leered_ in Lestrade's direction.

_Bloody hell! Isn't that the Super's wife?_

"Five thousand pounds."

The calm, authoritative voice cut across the chatter in the ballroom like a knife. There was a stunned silence, both at the amount and the unmistakably masculine voice that had announced it.

The M.C. covered the mic with his hand and whispered to Lestrade. "Are we... are we accepting bids from men?"

 _Five grand..._ Lestrade felt weak at the knees. "I think for that kind of money we have to."

"Is, er, is that a serious bid, sir?" the M.C. asked.

The figure at the back of the room stepped forward from the gloom by the doorway and leaned on his umbrella.

"Quite serious, I assure you."

He reached into his inside breast pocket and drew out a bundle of notes.

The M.C. took a deep breath, shrugged and proclaimed, "Sold! To the gentleman at the back."

Lestrade stepped down from the stage in a daze. The crowd parted before him like the Red Sea. Apart from the odd murmur they were still standing in open-mouthed shock. He walked slowly through them, barely even registering they were there, and stopped in front of Mycroft.

"I-- I thought you didn't want us to be public knowledge," he muttered.

"I reconsidered."

"When?"

Mycroft lowered his voice. "When the Chief Superintendent's wife bid three hundred pounds for you and looked directly at your crotch. I suspect you may have found yourself with a very tricky dilemma."

"Oh." So it was to get him out of a tight spot then, well that made sense...

"Also, I decided I really couldn't bear the thought of someone else thinking they had any rights to something I consider mine." Mycroft smiled and tucked the wad of notes into Lestrade's waistband.

Lestrade looked down and blushed even harder.

When he looked up again, Mycroft grabbed his lapels and kissed him.

Lestrade vaguely heard Mycroft's umbrella clatter to the floor behind him. If he had any remaining doubts that he was being publicly claimed, the possessiveness and hunger in that kiss obliterated them completely.

His hands came up and rested on Mycroft's waist, pulling his lover closer as the whole hotel vanished around them.

When they finally broke apart, light-headed and breathless, Lestrade became horrifyingly aware of everybody in the room still looking at them. It made the skin on the back of his neck crawl.

Mycroft smiled. "I think it's time I took my prize out of here. Don't worry, your colleague, D.I. Gregson, is about to give us a diversion."

"He is?"

"Yes. He's choking on a dry roasted peanut he inhaled when I kissed you."

There was a sudden urgent shout from the bar.

"Shall we?" Mycroft flicked his umbrella up into his hand with his foot and ushered Lestrade to the door, pausing only to hand the bundle of banknotes to one of the charity reps. "I'm looking forward to a prompt return on my investment."

 

* * *

The car glided silently away from the kerb outside the hotel.

Lestrade slouched back in his seat, pulled the bow tie from around his neck and shoved it in one of his jacket pockets. "So where are we going?"

"I thought we may be tediously traditional and have a spot of dinner together," Mycroft answered.

"You're outing me _and_ taking me out - looks like your generosity knows no bounds this evening," Lestrade wryly remarked.

"Ah, yes. I should apologise for that."

"Damn right you should!" Lestrade exploded. "I've been doing my damnedest to keep everything under wraps - at _your_ request, might I add - and then you just charge in, flash your cash and _buy_ me in front of everyone. It's the least subtle thing I think I've ever seen _anyone_ do - and that includes your impossible little brother! Just because you decided _you_ wanted to let everybody know about us - you could have asked me how _I_ felt. I've got to go in and face half those people tomorrow morning."

"No, you don't - you're off tomorrow."

"Since when?"

"Since about twenty minutes ago - or three months ago according to the records."

"You... _Argh_! You can be _so_ infuriating sometimes, Myc!" Lestrade dragged his hands through his hair.

Mycroft pursed his lips. "I am rarely moved to such impulsive gestures. I find that since admitting to you that my interest in you was more than fraternal concern for Sherlock, I find myself doing a lot of things I would previously have considered anathema - not least answering to that _appalling_ diminutive."

Lestrade looked at the floor and grinned. "Would you prefer Mikey instead?"

"I would rather have bamboo splinters inserted under my fingernails, _Greggy_."

Lestrade chuckled and some of the tension in the air dissipated. "Five grand's a lot of money."

"Police welfare is a cause I am remarkably passionate about - and in my opinion I got a bargain."

"Put Gregson's nose out of joint anyway. Mind you, they'll all be busily discussing exactly what you're _doing_ with your five thousand pound policeman."

"What does one usually do with things one buys at auction?"

Lestrade had only ever bought an extremely beat up old Ford Cortina that way. He thought the answer was probably not "Run it into the ground until it falls to pieces around you" - or at least he hoped not.

"I could take you home and hang you up on the wall," Mycroft suggested.

"That doesn't sound at all kinky," Lestrade muttered.

"Better than being packed in a box in my attic. Beautiful things should be admired."

Lestrade squirmed uncomfortably as he always did when he thought Mycroft was being overly-complimentary. "I'm definitely no oil painting."

"And yet several women in there were almost obscenely enthusiastic in their pursuit of your purchased company."

Lestrade glanced out of the window and decided to change the topic. "So where's this restaurant?"

"We're not going to a restaurant. We're going to my house."

"No, we're not. We're heading out of town, not into it."

"My other house. _One of_ my other houses, I should say."

" _One_ of...? How many do you have?"

"Four I own outright - but I have the use of several more."

"Four houses..." Lestrade said weakly. He had a crippling mortgage on a tiny flat and his parents had never owned a house in their entire lives. He hated when Mycroft made him feel so out of his depth.

Mycroft moved across the seat and turned towards him. He slid his hand inside Lestrade's shirt collar and around his neck. "Greg, I know you have these idiotic notions that somehow you are unworthy of my attentions purely because our families had different financial backgrounds and social status... but you, more than anyone I know, understand that a man's worth has nothing to do with his upbringing or bank account."

Lestrade blushed and his head dropped but Mycroft caught his chin with his other hand and pulled it up again.

"I could sell everything I own, rob every bank in the world and pawn the Crown Jewels and it would still be a pitifully inadequate amount to put against what you mean to me."

Mycroft leaned in then and kissed him; not the possessive, demanding kiss of earlier but with every bit as much passion.

Lestrade sat up, put his arms round him and twisted Mycroft's upper body further round into his.

Mycroft was forced to bring his leg up under his body onto the seat and ended up lying on his back with his head resting in Lestrade's lap."I do wish you wouldn't man-handle me like that."

"Shut up. You love it." Lestrade gently brushed his thumb across Mycroft's cheek as he cradled him. "What's got into you? You're not usually this... demonstrative."

"As I said, you appear to bring out the worst in me."

Lestrade smiled broadly and Mycroft decided that alone was worth every penny...

 


End file.
